Fic: A Thousand Miles (Devotion Series 1/14)
Fic: A Thousand Miles
Fandom: Xena
Pairing: Ares/Joxer
Rating: PG
Summary: Joxer remembers a bright spot on an otherwise bleak childhood and the reason he left home at sixteen.
Fifteen years had passed since the last time he stopped in this particular clearing, but he still remembered it as though it was yesterday. The place hadn’t changed a bit, not one tree was touched and the aging stone temple at the back of the clearing looked just the way he remembered it. Even the chill in the late autumn air was the same as that day he’d left all those years ago, bringing back memories he’d hoped were long buried. Not all of them were bad, of course; even in the darkest, most desolate childhood there were always a few memories worth holding onto. The problem was that whenever he remembered them he remembered the reason he’d been forced to leave, and he couldn’t stand to relive that part. So he chose to forget, to bury even the sweet memories under fifteen years’ worth of struggle and tell himself it had all been another lifetime ago. The only trouble with lying to yourself, he reminded himself bitterly as he looked around the familiar scene, was that you always knew you were lying.
“Joxer?” Xena’s voice cut through his reverie, concern and a hint of annoyance in her tone as he looked over at her. He knew she was probably irritated that he was just standing there rather than gathering firewood as she’d ordered him, but he hadn’t been able to help his reaction to seeing the place where he grew up again. “What is it?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” he answered, forcing a weak grin as he focused on her. “I’ll go get the firewood.”
She nodded succinctly as he turned away and headed in the direction of the trees, his heart in his throat as hr got further from the center of the clearing. Maybe he should tell Xena whose temple they were camping right next to, but then again she probably already knew. After all, she used to be one of Ares’ greatest warriors, so she probably knew most of his temples on sight. Anyway it was getting dark and it wouldn’t do any good to try to get her to move on just because he was having flashbacks to his childhood.
He swallowed against a sudden surge of nostalgia and forced himself to step into the woods behind the temple, half expecting to see a familiar figure step out from behind a large tree off to his right. Only it had been fifteen years since he’d seen that face, and he wasn’t even sure if he’d recognize the sixteen-year-old boy in a thirty-one year old man anymore. He wanted to believe that he would, but in his heart he knew that even if he passed the man his childhood friend had grown into on the street he probably wouldn’t know him.
Just get the firewood, he told himself, rolling his eyes as he found himself searching the quickly darkening forest for any sign of someone he hadn’t seen in fifteen years. It was ridiculous, and soon it would be dark out and Xena and Gabrielle would be furious if he didn’t bring back enough firewood to last the night. He began picking up branches they could use to keep them warm overnight, letting his mind wander back to the few times in his childhood he’d actually been happy.
Six years - that’s how long it had lasted, he’d had a best friend for six years and they were the happiest days of his life. He didn’t let himself think about it often, in fact since he ran away from home he hadn’t let himself come anywhere near this place just so he wouldn’t be forced to remember. Now he realized how right he’d been to avoid this place, because just the thought of being in the place where it had all happened made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t felt since he was sixteen and on his own for the first time. Not that he didn’t value the friends he had now, Xena and Gabrielle let him tag along and he always welcomed a chance to catch up with Hercules and especially Iolaus. There had been a time when he even tried to convince himself that he could care enough for Gabrielle to have a life with her, but he’d known it was a losing battle from the start. For one thing he hadn’t felt that way about anyone since the day he left home, and for another she was hopelessly in love with Xena.
He sighed as he prayed to Aphrodite for the thousandth time that someday soon Xena would stop worrying about peace and making up for being one of Ares’ warriors long enough to realize that Gabrielle needed more from her than just protection and company. At least one of them should have a happy ending, and Joxer definitely wouldn’t be getting his so he hoped Gabrielle would get hers. He knew it would be a happy ending for Xena too if she’d just open her eyes long enough to see it, but there was nothing he could do to help either of them along.
When he’d gathered enough firewood to keep them warm through the night he took one last look around, sighing softly as he finally let the rush of memories overtake him. The woods still looked just the same as he remembered, if he closed his eyes he could swear he was sixteen again and waiting under a tight cluster of trees with a nearly hidden opening in the middle for the one person he knew he could trust back then. The one person that made him forget the misery of his life with his family just for a little while; just long enough to feel like he was worth more than the contempt his parents showered upon their children.
That was when it started; all those years ago living under his parents' roof he'd learned to pretend that nothing bothered him, to keep a smile on his face no matter what insults his family hurled at him. His brothers handled the hurt differently - Jace retreated so far into his fantasy world that Joxer didn't think he'd ever really known what reality was, and Jett…well, Jett took a much more aggressive approach to dealing with the pain. Joxer was the sweet one, the shy kid that just pretended it didn't matter when his father smacked him just because he'd had a bad day or his mother ignored the fact that she had children to feed and clothe. He told himself it wasn't really anybody's fault, that his parents just didn't know how to deal with their three young sons and they were only human.
He told himself that now that he was older, anyway. It helped him to keep the bitterness and regret locked somewhere deep in his heart where no one could ever touch it, where he wouldn't have to feel it or remember. And anyway it hadn't been all bad, he had a few good memories of his brothers growing up and then there were those six years that he never talked about but always held close. Sometimes the memory of a warm, understanding smile or a soft touch was the only thing that kept him going in a life that was transient at best. He told himself that traveling with Xena and Gabrielle gave him a purpose, meant that he was doing something to help make the world a little better than it had been a year or an hour or even a minute ago. The fact that they more or less tolerated his presence rather than welcomed it wasn't lost on him, but he let them humor him because it was all he really had to hold onto. That and six years' worth of blissful and heartbreaking memories.
And it was his own fault for leaving, because if he'd been stronger he would have stayed and put up with whatever he had to just to stay near the one person that had ever made him feel like life might be worth fighting for after all. He remembered the day they met as clearly as if it was yesterday - he was ten years old and running away, as far and as fast as his gangly, childish legs would carry him. He almost laughed at the fact that he'd barely run ten minutes when he collapsed, exhausted and aching from the fresh bruises forming on his back and jaw. His lip was split and the blood dried on his mouth and chin, leaving him with the bitter taste of copper in his throat as he dropped in front of the old, disused temple where his father made sacrifices when he was sober enough to remember.
When he caught his breath enough to slowly become aware of his surroundings he was frightened; the temple of the God of War was no place for a ten-year-old boy who was naturally weak and clumsy compared to his much stronger brother Jett or the far more graceful Jace. Joxer was the one that his family mockingly - and correctly, his conscience reminded him - referred to as the runt of the litter, an afterthought that would have done well to die at birth and spare them all the trouble of feeding and looking after him. He certainly didn't have any business climbing the steps to the temple, or running timid fingers along the smooth stone walls as he gazed in slack-jawed wonder at the stolid stone statue of Ares on one side of the entrance to the temple.
He knew from listening to his father and his father's terrifyingly gruff friends that Ares rarely, if ever, graced this little temple in the middle of nowhere with his presence, but he knew also that there was a priest who kept up the altar and collected offerings from the loyal followers of War that worshipped there. When he was younger, hiding up in the cramped loft he shared with his brothers while he listened to his father and the other men going on about the glories of battle, Joxer thought that nothing could be more wonderful than serving War. They made it seem so exotic - so dangerous and heroic and more than anything he'd wanted then to be worthy of his father's notice. He wanted to be strong and fearless like Jett, unafraid to look his father in the eye and skilled with weapons the way the other boys his age were quickly becoming.
So when he found himself standing inside Ares' temple, listening to the charge of hushed energy crackle in the air around him, he wanted nothing more than to find the old priest that lived at the temple and beg for a chance to be his apprentice. Even if he was never as strong or capable as Jett or his father he at least wanted a chance to try.
Of course the old man had laughed at him. Of course, and not kindly the way some adults mocked Joxer's wide-eyed, desperate hopes that someday he'd be a warrior like the other men in the village. It was rare to be met by kindness in the world around him, and the old priest was either too tired or too disinterested to bother treating Joxer any differently than the rest of the people in his limited world. He'd turned the boy away almost before Joxer could stammer out his request, shooing him out of the temple with the admonishment that War's temple was no place for a little weakling covered in bruises and smelling of farm animals. It wasn't the first time the words of a stranger had cut him - far from it - but it wounded him all the same.
He fled from the coolness inside the building, vision blurred by unshed tears as he stumbled toward the woods at the back of the temple. He was too preoccupied with the latest humiliation to notice someone watching him until soft laughter floated toward him, and he tensed instantly and curled into himself as he prepared himself for another verbal or possibly physical attack. When he found the source of the laughter he straightened up and wiped at his moist eyes, sniffing defiantly at the boy smiling back at him from the edge of the woods. He was no more than ten years old, but his dark eyes held a wisdom that ten-year-old Joxer couldn't comprehend. All he knew was that he'd never seen this boy before, not in the village where he lived or in any of his rare trips to the larger neighboring town with his father.
"You shouldn't let the old man scare you," the boy said, pushing a shock of dark bangs off his forehead as he crossed his arms over his chest. "He's just a crazy old priest."
"He didn't scare me," Joxer answered, beyond caring that he sounded defensive and, contrary to his claim, more than a little terrified. "I'm not afraid of anything."
He expected the boy to say something nasty about the way Joxer was shaking or make fun of him for crying, but instead he pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against and walked forward slowly, as though he was afraid of frightening Joxer away again. "It's okay to be afraid sometimes," he said when he stopped a foot from Joxer. "My name's Timo."
And so it began. He wasn't sure how long they'd played that day, but when he finally snuck into the rundown little house where he'd grown up and crept up to the loft he was exhausted enough to fall asleep almost before his head hit the straw. After that first day he went to the temple as often as he could - he never went inside again, but somehow whenever he got there Timo was waiting for him. They spent hours playing in the woods, talking about what it would be like when they were older and went off to fight in the wars together. They made plans to run away to Sparta, or they laid in the grass and stared up at the clouds and wondered aloud what it would be like to live up there, in Olympus with War and the other gods. And somehow Timo always had enough food so that neither of them went hungry, which was something Joxer wasn't used to but after meeting his new friend his hollow chest started to fill out just enough to make it a little easier to sleep at night.
It went on like that for years, and even though Timo never really talked about his family or the village over the hills where he lived Joxer never thought it strange enough to wonder. It was enough that he had this something that was all his, something to make him smile through the tears when his father remembered him long enough to reacquaint Joxer's back with his belt. He could lose himself in memories of a dozen afternoons spent talking quietly in the woods or just silently following the small stream that ran behind the temple, enjoying each other's company in that way that meant there was no need to talk. Suddenly he had a spot of bright on the otherwise dreary gray canvas that composed his young life, and the odd friendship was enough to make everything else seem just a little less miserable.
He never told anyone, never wanted to share or risk tainting what he'd come to think of as almost sacred by telling his brothers or the other children in the village about his best and only friend. No one ever thought to ask where he disappeared to so often; maybe they were just as happy that he stayed out from underfoot and seemed to give up the insane notion that he could possibly ever compare to Jett or the other, stronger boys in the village. There were still beatings from his father, more as a matter of course than any real punishment. As he got older he realized that it was his father's idea of the best way to toughen up the sons he considered inferior or somehow damaged, and he learned to ignore the hurt that went along with not being good enough because he knew there was one person in the world that thought he was fine just the way he was.
The fact that his feelings shifted from childlike worship to something deeper never really surprised him; as he reached fourteen and his body began to change in all kinds of uncomfortable and embarrassing ways it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to direct all his new-found feelings toward the one person that always made him feel safe. There was the initial awkwardness, of course, no boy his age was immune to that and he went through the panicked shame of wondering how exactly to act on what he was feeling. It was the one area of their friendship where Timo didn't take the lead, as a matter of fact. At the time Joxer assumed it was just because his friend was as confused and embarrassed as he was, but in retrospect the other boy had always possessed a sort of quiet grace that made it impossible to imagine him embarrassed about anything.
Even so he never said or did anything until Joxer finally marshaled the courage to make the first move, frustration and finally the need to just know one way or the other pushing him into an awkward, groping and less than satisfying kiss. More of a press of lips to the side of his friend's mouth, really, because along with teenage hormones came even more painful clumsiness that Joxer never quite grew out of. So his first kiss couldn't even count as an actual kiss, because he pulled away before he even got started and just stared, lips parted slightly as the dark eyes he'd spent the past four years memorizing gazed steadily back at him.
The waiting hurt; like a weight pressing down on his chest and making it hard to breathe for days and weeks or maybe just a few seconds before those three words, the ones no one really wants to ask but everyone does anyway: "Are you sure?"
And if he hadn't been sure the sound of that voice he loved so much would have cemented it for him, but he'd been sure for longer than he even knew and suddenly and with startling clarity he could answer without hesitation: "Of course. I love you."
It was so simple, really, just a few soft words exchanged between two people that had grown up together, created a magic world that no other human being could touch and suddenly it was just a little bit bigger than it had been a moment ago. The edges shifted almost imperceptibly, blurring just a little before reshaping and forming an even more solid shield against the rest of Joxer's unfortunate life. At least that was the way it had felt at the time; that second brushing of lips on lips that became their first real kiss sent a thrill through Joxer that made him feel invincible, as though the world began and ended with the two of them and nothing could ever touch the most important part of him. The part of him that belonged to a mysterious dark-haired boy from a neighboring village that stole Joxer's heart with a simple offer of friendship.
Reality came rushing back with an unbearable stinging that Joxer blinked away, swallowing hard against the tightness in his throat as he gripped the firewood in his arms more tightly. He had no idea how long he'd been rooted to the spot at the edge of the woods, lost in the memory of sweet kisses that promised so much more; worlds he'd discover over the next two blissful years before it all came crashing down around him. When he came back to himself the sky was dark save for the first few fingers of moonlight above the trees and his arms ached from the weight of the wood. He cleared his throat gruffly and forced himself back to the campsite, smiling his apologies without meeting the concerned gazes of his traveling companions.
"Joxer, is everything okay?" Xena asked, exchanging a glance with Gabrielle that wasn't lost on him. He imagined - hoped, really - that the two of them would assume his somber expression and long absence meant he was licking his wounds over Gabrielle's lack of interest in him. It was better that way, better to suffer a familiar humiliation than to stumble over an explanation about this place he didn't want to think about anymore.
"Everything's fine," he answered, aware of the tightness in his voice. He stole a quick glance at Gabrielle in an effort to reinforce the deception that he was still mooning over her, then dropped his gaze to the fire as he lowered the wood to the ground and stacked it more or less neatly. "Just had a little trouble finding dry wood. It's still damp in the forest."
A lie, one they could see through easily, but he couldn't make himself care. They were gracious enough not to point out that autumn had barely started and most of the area was still dry from the long, blazing summer, and the three of them fell into a companionable silence as they ate their dinner and unrolled their bedrolls. When the plates were cleaned and packed away Joxer turned gratefully to his makeshift bed, his back warmed by the fire as he pretended he was exhausted from the long day's journey. He didn't close his eyes, though; instead he let the low murmur of whispered conversation between the two women fade into the noises of the woods as he stared out into the darkness. The outline of the temple was barely discernable from the campsite, but he could see it as clearly as though it were broad daylight. Only his mind's eye added the solid, smiling figure of a dark-haired boy with eyes that held the kind of secrets only whispered in low voices in the dark of night. His arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned against the side of the temple, his smile broadening just a little as he watched a smaller, pale boy run through the clearing to stop in front of him.
Joxer snapped his eyes shut against the image, but they were still there behind his eyelids. He watched helplessly as strong arms encircled a slight body, pulling him forward gently for a kiss that Joxer could still feel against his lips. He felt his mouth move in response to the memory, his still-pale skin flushing in the darkness when he realized what he was doing. This was the reason he never thought about those six years, because even fifteen years later it all felt so real and it hurt so much more when he woke up to find that he was alone again. The memories were so strong in this place, though, almost like ghosts that had been waiting years for him to return. He let out a soft sigh and curled a little tighter into his bedroll, giving himself over to the memories that seemed to surround him at every turn. Just for tonight, he told himself. Just for tonight, he'd let himself remember the gentle touches, the whispered words of love and maybe just this once the aching longing when he woke wouldn't be so bad.
~
Joxer woke bathed in sweat, his heart pounding wildly in his chest and his arms moving frantically against the vice grip trying to hold him still. "Joxer…Joxer!" Louder now, and the voice wasn't the same…he blinked and looked up into the startlingly blue eyes of Xena, confusion marring his features for a moment before he looked around and remembered. The clearing set off in the stark light of morning didn't look nearly as familiar as it had the night before; the tree line was different, traces of a recent fire still showed in the charred remains of a few trees surrounded by fresh undergrowth. He turned wildly in the direction of the temple, noting for the first time since their arrival that it looked older too. Of course time had taken its toll as it always did, but last night everything had looked so…untouched. As though the clearing had been waiting for something - for him.
He shook his head as Xena released her hold on his arms, noting for the first time that Gabrielle knelt on his other side, her own face creased with worry as she ran a damp cloth over his forehead. For a moment he wondered if he had a fever, if he was delusional from some illness that had crept into his body during the night. As his breathing calmed and his heartbeat evened out a little he realized that it was just his imagination playing tricks on him, using the low light of evening and the memories of the clearing to convince him that it looked exactly the way it had fifteen years ago when he saw it last. "I'm sorry," he said, wincing at the rough quality of his voice. He eased out of Gabrielle's reach, ignoring the look of surprise that passed between his two friends. "I'm fine, I'm sorry if I worried you."
"Joxer, you were calling out in your sleep. You were thrashing around like someone was killing you, and you kept calling a name over and over."
His gaze swung back toward Xena's, eyes wide as she watched him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "I was?"
"You kept calling for someone named Timo."
It all flooded back to him at once, the force of the memories knocking the air out of his chest. For a moment all he could do was close his eyes and let the memories wash over him, pain clearly etched in his features as he replayed the dream. Another reason he didn't let himself remember, a wry voice at the back of his mind reminded him. He hadn't had the dream in years - well, technically it was a nightmare, but he'd never been one to split hairs - but his subconscious had brought it back to the fore last night with an excruciating eye for detail.
It always started the same; it was the most vivid dream he could ever remember having, full of scent and taste and touch as well as brightly colored images. Of course that might have been because it was more of a memory than a dream, at least in the beginning. It was the last time he saw Timo, a beautiful day in early autumn. They'd spread a blanket on the forest floor deep in the trees where no one would find them, not that they had to worry about anyone stumbling upon them accidentally. No one ever came to the clearing for anything other than to make an offering to Ares, and none of the warriors from the surrounding villages had any use for a thick patch of woods in a nearly deserted area. So there was no anxiousness or worry as Joxer let Timo lower him onto the blanket, losing himself in the feeling of strong hands moving across his skin as they slowly shed their clothes.
No matter how many times they were together it always felt new, but at the same time there was a familiarity about the way the other boy's hands moved on his body that made Joxer feel safe and so loved he had to force back tears. Timo never commented on the scars and bruises that appeared on Joxer's body from regular encounters with his father, but he acknowledged each one with a gentle kiss or the press of soft fingertips. It was enough to let Joxer know that he understood, and they didn't have to talk about it because when they were together nothing else mattered.
The dream memory of the last time they were together made him ache for that touch even now, with Xena and Gabrielle looking on in stunned concern. He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks but he was powerless to stop them, his chest ached too much and the images in his mind were too real. That was when the dream shifted, when the impossible happened without warning. The world they'd spent six years building so carefully, making sure to shield from the suspicious eye of every other human being came crumbling down around them. One moment he was surrounded by warmth and love and waves of nearly unbearable pleasure, and a moment later it was torn away from him and he was left cold and exposed and staring into his father's angry scowl.
Timo was pulled away from him brutally, dragged off still struggling and calling Joxer's name as his father got closer and closer, laughing over the sound of Joxer calling the name he hadn't spoken out loud in fifteen years.
"Joxer, you've got to breathe." The voice was sharp but not unkind, and he opened his eyes again to find Xena shaking him. He didn't try to move away again as Gabrielle wiped at his tears, only vaguely aware of how embarrassed he should be at the fact that he was crying as helplessly as that day when he was ten years old and fled from Ares' temple.
He realized with a start that he wasn't breathing after all, and he filled his lungs too fast and choked on the pain in his chest. A strong but still feminine hand landed on his back and rubbed in slow circles, and he shook his head and tried unsuccessfully to say something, anything to make them believe he wasn't losing his mind. The trouble was that the dream was still too vivid; even with his eyes open he could see the look on Timo's face as he was dragged away, the sound of Joxer's father's laughter still in his ears.
Of course that wasn't how it actually happened. Their last time together had been as perfect and wonderful as it was at the beginning of the dream, only no one caught them and tore them apart. He wasn't left cold and screaming for Timo as his father and brother closed in on him; that was a trick of his treacherous imagination, a left-over fear manifested in a twisted rendition of actual events. No, the truth was much more subtle but ended in pretty much the same way, with Joxer separated forever from the one person that he'd ever loved and been loved by in return.
He wouldn't discover until later that they'd been caught together in the woods, wouldn't know until his father caught him sneaking home and dragged him behind the house that Jett had followed Joxer out of boredom or curiosity or just plain old malice. He wouldn't know until he was an adult and crossed paths with his brother Jace by accident that he'd been the subject of speculation for over a year before they found out what he snuck off to do every chance he got. All he learned as his father beat him until he finally passed out was that Jett had seen him doing things no man in his right mind had any business doing and gone right home to tell his father, to report that Joxer was an even bigger disappointment than they'd feared. His father did his level best to beat that particular demon out of Joxer, but when he woke by some miracle in an aching, bloody heap hours later it was still there. Even then his heart still longed for the one person who understood, who loved him and believed that even if he wasn't as strong as the others that he still had something to offer.
It was Jace that finally helped him into the house and up the ladder to their loft, sighing in a way that let Joxer know that while he understood, he thought less of Joxer for letting himself get caught. For three days he didn't move any more than absolutely necessary, and the only time his family didn't ignore his presence was when Jace forced him to drink some water or eat a crust of bread stolen while his mother wasn't looking. When he felt strong enough to stand up without passing out again he forced his legs to carry him down the ladder, crawling the last few steps out of the house into the night air. His family, if any of them woke long enough to notice his departure, would just think he was going out to relieve himself. So it was simple enough to slip away, stopping every few minutes to gather the strength just to keep going a little bit longer. It took him all night to make it to the clearing, and when he finally reached the cluster of trees he'd come to think of as theirs the sun was peeking over the horizon.
For the first time he could remember Timo wasn't there to greet him; there was no smile to make his heart swell and no understanding in dark eyes as strong arms lifted the weight that was his life off his shoulders for just a little while. He hadn't been expecting him to be there, of course; it was barely dawn, after all, and there was no reason for his friend to expect him to be there at that hour. Joxer swallowed an irrational surge of disappointment and dug into his pocket with trembling fingers, retrieving the scrap of parchment he'd begged Jace to steal for him. It was the last act of kindness his brother showed him, depositing the scrap of cheap parchment and a small vial of ink next to Joxer one morning when their parents were both out of the house. Joxer used a makeshift quill to scratch out a barely legible note, careful to let it dry before he tucked it deep in the folds of his tunic where his father wouldn't find it and finally kill him for that one last insult.
He looked down at it that morning in the stillness of the woods, brutally forcing back tears as he set it down near the base of the tree and set a small red stone on top of it. He thought about staying, taking the risk that his father wouldn't come looking for him in the very place where he'd committed that unbearable crime just for a chance to see Timo one more time. Maybe if he could just see him, they could find a way to make it better together…go away somewhere where no one could touch their world again. They could run to Sparta the way they'd talked about, or maybe just go to Timo's family for help. He forced himself back to his feet, dismissing all the vain, desperate hopes for what they were. Impossible, nice dreams but just not possible in the world he'd tried so hard to ignore for so long. That was the last time he'd seen this clearing, through blurred vision as he slowly made his way toward the road that would lead him as far away from home as he could get.
Slowly he pulled himself together, swallowing the grief and longing that threatened to break him when he let himself remember. It was a long time ago and it was over now, but he knew he was luckier than most. He'd had real, perfect love for a little while, the kind that the bards sang about and people longed for but almost never found. He'd lost it, but he still had the memories and even though he'd never love anyone again he had friends who cared about him and he did what he could to make the world a little better wherever he found the opportunity.
"Do you want to tell me who Timo is?" Xena asked gently as Gabrielle moved away to get Joxer some water.
"Just someone I haven't thought of in a long time," he answered. "I'm sorry I worried the two of you, Xena. I know it's not really any of my business, but don't let yourself get so caught up in your crusade that you let happiness pass you by. She needs you more than you realize." He glanced over at Gabrielle before returning his attention to a confused and slightly flushed Xena.
She cleared her throat and stood up abruptly as Gabrielle returned, looking anywhere but at her traveling companions as Gabrielle lifted the canteen to Joxer's lips and forced him to drink. He wasn't sure if he'd done either of them any good by saying what he did, but the memories this place brought back were strong enough to convince him that he couldn't let his friends miss out on a chance at the happiness he'd had once. Once they were convinced that he wasn't going to fall apart again Gabrielle moved away to make breakfast and Joxer closed his eyes again, part of him wishing they were closer to a decent-sized town so he could do this properly.
Aphrodite, I'm sorry I don't have an offering to give you but I promise I'll make up for it the next time I'm near one of your temples. I don't know if you can help me, but I can't think of anyone else that might be able to. You must know that when I was fourteen I fell in love - his name was Timo and he lived near that old temple of War on the outskirts of Araxova. I just…I need to know if he's okay, if he's happy. I understand if you can't help me. Thank you, Aphrodite, for always being so nice to me and…everything.
He blushed as his impromptu prayer trailed off awkwardly, part of him hoping the goddess that seemed so fond of him would be too busy to hear it. A final sigh escaped his lips as he forced himself to focus on rolling his bedroll, hoping Xena and Gabrielle would be anxious to get back on the road to Thebes soon.
~
"Oh, my poor Joxie," Aphrodite breathed as his prayer ended in a half-hearted wish that she wouldn't even hear it. "I always hear your prayers, silly boy."
"Mom? Everything okay?" Cupid asked from his seat across the room, one eyebrow raised quizzically as he listened to his mother mutter to herself.
"I'm not sure," the goddess answered, twisting a golden curl around her finger thoughtfully. "I just got the sweetest little prayer from Joxie, but it didn't make much sense. Have you ever heard about him being in love when he was a kid?"
Cupid shrugged noncommittally, his lips turning up in a grin as he watched his mother frown. "I don't keep tabs on the romances that don't need my help as a general rule. Besides, Joxer's your pet, not mine."
"True, but when he was younger I didn't really pay much attention to him. Not until that nitwit Gabrielle broke the poor sweet boy's heart."
"I'd hardly call that heartbreak," Cupid muttered under his breath, but Aphrodite was too lost in thought to hear him.
"He mentioned a boy named Timo - his first love, some kid from somewhere around Araxova. I can't think of anybody from around there with that name, can you?"
"No," Cupid answered after a moment of consideration. "I could see what I could find out if you want. Maybe Strife can help, if there's a chance to stir up trouble he'll be more than eager."
Aphrodite smiled knowingly at her son. "You mean if there's an excuse for you to spend time with Strife you're more than eager to help." She waved off his half-hearted protest, smiling indulgently at the young god. "Go on, you and Strife see if you can find out who this love of Joxie's life is. And don't mention it to anybody until we find something out. I don't want Xena's little shadow using this against him."
"Sure thing, Mom," Cupid said, grinning as he flashed out of Aphrodite's sitting room and into the Hall of War. He wasted no time transporting to Strife's room, greeting his cousin with a resounding kiss. It was quite some time before either of them got around to the real subject of Cupid's visit.
Unbeknownst to both of them, in the next hallway a more somber than usual God of War sank into the large chair in his bedchamber, the fingers of one hand closed around something as the other hand held a piece of parchment in front of him. He closed his eyes and recited the words written there in his mind, then opened his eyes and read them over again.
I wish I could explain in person - I know I'm doing this all wrong, but I don't have any other choice. I can't see you again…please understand, it's not you. It's my father, he found out and I have to leave. I don't want you to worry, I'll be okay. I'll see you again, I know I will. I love you. So much. Joxer
The corners of the parchment were worn from fifteen years of large, agile fingers worrying the edges of the note. He'd memorized the hastily written words years ago, but that never stopped him from pulling it out and looking at the shaky, barely legible handwriting whenever he found his mind wandering back to that time out of time in a little clearing a day's walk away from Thebes. It was rare that he let himself indulge in such sentimental behavior, but every once in awhile he just couldn't stop himself. No one knew, so it wasn't really hurting anyone to just remember for a little while. He sighed and forced himself to stand up, dropping the cheap, yellowed parchment into the drawer next to his bed. His other hand uncurled slowly, his gaze falling on the smooth red stone for a moment before he set it down on top of the note and closed the drawer.
Fandom: Xena
Pairing: Ares/Joxer
Rating: PG
Summary: Joxer remembers a bright spot on an otherwise bleak childhood and the reason he left home at sixteen.
Fifteen years had passed since the last time he stopped in this particular clearing, but he still remembered it as though it was yesterday. The place hadn’t changed a bit, not one tree was touched and the aging stone temple at the back of the clearing looked just the way he remembered it. Even the chill in the late autumn air was the same as that day he’d left all those years ago, bringing back memories he’d hoped were long buried. Not all of them were bad, of course; even in the darkest, most desolate childhood there were always a few memories worth holding onto. The problem was that whenever he remembered them he remembered the reason he’d been forced to leave, and he couldn’t stand to relive that part. So he chose to forget, to bury even the sweet memories under fifteen years’ worth of struggle and tell himself it had all been another lifetime ago. The only trouble with lying to yourself, he reminded himself bitterly as he looked around the familiar scene, was that you always knew you were lying.
“Joxer?” Xena’s voice cut through his reverie, concern and a hint of annoyance in her tone as he looked over at her. He knew she was probably irritated that he was just standing there rather than gathering firewood as she’d ordered him, but he hadn’t been able to help his reaction to seeing the place where he grew up again. “What is it?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” he answered, forcing a weak grin as he focused on her. “I’ll go get the firewood.”
She nodded succinctly as he turned away and headed in the direction of the trees, his heart in his throat as hr got further from the center of the clearing. Maybe he should tell Xena whose temple they were camping right next to, but then again she probably already knew. After all, she used to be one of Ares’ greatest warriors, so she probably knew most of his temples on sight. Anyway it was getting dark and it wouldn’t do any good to try to get her to move on just because he was having flashbacks to his childhood.
He swallowed against a sudden surge of nostalgia and forced himself to step into the woods behind the temple, half expecting to see a familiar figure step out from behind a large tree off to his right. Only it had been fifteen years since he’d seen that face, and he wasn’t even sure if he’d recognize the sixteen-year-old boy in a thirty-one year old man anymore. He wanted to believe that he would, but in his heart he knew that even if he passed the man his childhood friend had grown into on the street he probably wouldn’t know him.
Just get the firewood, he told himself, rolling his eyes as he found himself searching the quickly darkening forest for any sign of someone he hadn’t seen in fifteen years. It was ridiculous, and soon it would be dark out and Xena and Gabrielle would be furious if he didn’t bring back enough firewood to last the night. He began picking up branches they could use to keep them warm overnight, letting his mind wander back to the few times in his childhood he’d actually been happy.
Six years - that’s how long it had lasted, he’d had a best friend for six years and they were the happiest days of his life. He didn’t let himself think about it often, in fact since he ran away from home he hadn’t let himself come anywhere near this place just so he wouldn’t be forced to remember. Now he realized how right he’d been to avoid this place, because just the thought of being in the place where it had all happened made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t felt since he was sixteen and on his own for the first time. Not that he didn’t value the friends he had now, Xena and Gabrielle let him tag along and he always welcomed a chance to catch up with Hercules and especially Iolaus. There had been a time when he even tried to convince himself that he could care enough for Gabrielle to have a life with her, but he’d known it was a losing battle from the start. For one thing he hadn’t felt that way about anyone since the day he left home, and for another she was hopelessly in love with Xena.
He sighed as he prayed to Aphrodite for the thousandth time that someday soon Xena would stop worrying about peace and making up for being one of Ares’ warriors long enough to realize that Gabrielle needed more from her than just protection and company. At least one of them should have a happy ending, and Joxer definitely wouldn’t be getting his so he hoped Gabrielle would get hers. He knew it would be a happy ending for Xena too if she’d just open her eyes long enough to see it, but there was nothing he could do to help either of them along.
When he’d gathered enough firewood to keep them warm through the night he took one last look around, sighing softly as he finally let the rush of memories overtake him. The woods still looked just the same as he remembered, if he closed his eyes he could swear he was sixteen again and waiting under a tight cluster of trees with a nearly hidden opening in the middle for the one person he knew he could trust back then. The one person that made him forget the misery of his life with his family just for a little while; just long enough to feel like he was worth more than the contempt his parents showered upon their children.
That was when it started; all those years ago living under his parents' roof he'd learned to pretend that nothing bothered him, to keep a smile on his face no matter what insults his family hurled at him. His brothers handled the hurt differently - Jace retreated so far into his fantasy world that Joxer didn't think he'd ever really known what reality was, and Jett…well, Jett took a much more aggressive approach to dealing with the pain. Joxer was the sweet one, the shy kid that just pretended it didn't matter when his father smacked him just because he'd had a bad day or his mother ignored the fact that she had children to feed and clothe. He told himself it wasn't really anybody's fault, that his parents just didn't know how to deal with their three young sons and they were only human.
He told himself that now that he was older, anyway. It helped him to keep the bitterness and regret locked somewhere deep in his heart where no one could ever touch it, where he wouldn't have to feel it or remember. And anyway it hadn't been all bad, he had a few good memories of his brothers growing up and then there were those six years that he never talked about but always held close. Sometimes the memory of a warm, understanding smile or a soft touch was the only thing that kept him going in a life that was transient at best. He told himself that traveling with Xena and Gabrielle gave him a purpose, meant that he was doing something to help make the world a little better than it had been a year or an hour or even a minute ago. The fact that they more or less tolerated his presence rather than welcomed it wasn't lost on him, but he let them humor him because it was all he really had to hold onto. That and six years' worth of blissful and heartbreaking memories.
And it was his own fault for leaving, because if he'd been stronger he would have stayed and put up with whatever he had to just to stay near the one person that had ever made him feel like life might be worth fighting for after all. He remembered the day they met as clearly as if it was yesterday - he was ten years old and running away, as far and as fast as his gangly, childish legs would carry him. He almost laughed at the fact that he'd barely run ten minutes when he collapsed, exhausted and aching from the fresh bruises forming on his back and jaw. His lip was split and the blood dried on his mouth and chin, leaving him with the bitter taste of copper in his throat as he dropped in front of the old, disused temple where his father made sacrifices when he was sober enough to remember.
When he caught his breath enough to slowly become aware of his surroundings he was frightened; the temple of the God of War was no place for a ten-year-old boy who was naturally weak and clumsy compared to his much stronger brother Jett or the far more graceful Jace. Joxer was the one that his family mockingly - and correctly, his conscience reminded him - referred to as the runt of the litter, an afterthought that would have done well to die at birth and spare them all the trouble of feeding and looking after him. He certainly didn't have any business climbing the steps to the temple, or running timid fingers along the smooth stone walls as he gazed in slack-jawed wonder at the stolid stone statue of Ares on one side of the entrance to the temple.
He knew from listening to his father and his father's terrifyingly gruff friends that Ares rarely, if ever, graced this little temple in the middle of nowhere with his presence, but he knew also that there was a priest who kept up the altar and collected offerings from the loyal followers of War that worshipped there. When he was younger, hiding up in the cramped loft he shared with his brothers while he listened to his father and the other men going on about the glories of battle, Joxer thought that nothing could be more wonderful than serving War. They made it seem so exotic - so dangerous and heroic and more than anything he'd wanted then to be worthy of his father's notice. He wanted to be strong and fearless like Jett, unafraid to look his father in the eye and skilled with weapons the way the other boys his age were quickly becoming.
So when he found himself standing inside Ares' temple, listening to the charge of hushed energy crackle in the air around him, he wanted nothing more than to find the old priest that lived at the temple and beg for a chance to be his apprentice. Even if he was never as strong or capable as Jett or his father he at least wanted a chance to try.
Of course the old man had laughed at him. Of course, and not kindly the way some adults mocked Joxer's wide-eyed, desperate hopes that someday he'd be a warrior like the other men in the village. It was rare to be met by kindness in the world around him, and the old priest was either too tired or too disinterested to bother treating Joxer any differently than the rest of the people in his limited world. He'd turned the boy away almost before Joxer could stammer out his request, shooing him out of the temple with the admonishment that War's temple was no place for a little weakling covered in bruises and smelling of farm animals. It wasn't the first time the words of a stranger had cut him - far from it - but it wounded him all the same.
He fled from the coolness inside the building, vision blurred by unshed tears as he stumbled toward the woods at the back of the temple. He was too preoccupied with the latest humiliation to notice someone watching him until soft laughter floated toward him, and he tensed instantly and curled into himself as he prepared himself for another verbal or possibly physical attack. When he found the source of the laughter he straightened up and wiped at his moist eyes, sniffing defiantly at the boy smiling back at him from the edge of the woods. He was no more than ten years old, but his dark eyes held a wisdom that ten-year-old Joxer couldn't comprehend. All he knew was that he'd never seen this boy before, not in the village where he lived or in any of his rare trips to the larger neighboring town with his father.
"You shouldn't let the old man scare you," the boy said, pushing a shock of dark bangs off his forehead as he crossed his arms over his chest. "He's just a crazy old priest."
"He didn't scare me," Joxer answered, beyond caring that he sounded defensive and, contrary to his claim, more than a little terrified. "I'm not afraid of anything."
He expected the boy to say something nasty about the way Joxer was shaking or make fun of him for crying, but instead he pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against and walked forward slowly, as though he was afraid of frightening Joxer away again. "It's okay to be afraid sometimes," he said when he stopped a foot from Joxer. "My name's Timo."
And so it began. He wasn't sure how long they'd played that day, but when he finally snuck into the rundown little house where he'd grown up and crept up to the loft he was exhausted enough to fall asleep almost before his head hit the straw. After that first day he went to the temple as often as he could - he never went inside again, but somehow whenever he got there Timo was waiting for him. They spent hours playing in the woods, talking about what it would be like when they were older and went off to fight in the wars together. They made plans to run away to Sparta, or they laid in the grass and stared up at the clouds and wondered aloud what it would be like to live up there, in Olympus with War and the other gods. And somehow Timo always had enough food so that neither of them went hungry, which was something Joxer wasn't used to but after meeting his new friend his hollow chest started to fill out just enough to make it a little easier to sleep at night.
It went on like that for years, and even though Timo never really talked about his family or the village over the hills where he lived Joxer never thought it strange enough to wonder. It was enough that he had this something that was all his, something to make him smile through the tears when his father remembered him long enough to reacquaint Joxer's back with his belt. He could lose himself in memories of a dozen afternoons spent talking quietly in the woods or just silently following the small stream that ran behind the temple, enjoying each other's company in that way that meant there was no need to talk. Suddenly he had a spot of bright on the otherwise dreary gray canvas that composed his young life, and the odd friendship was enough to make everything else seem just a little less miserable.
He never told anyone, never wanted to share or risk tainting what he'd come to think of as almost sacred by telling his brothers or the other children in the village about his best and only friend. No one ever thought to ask where he disappeared to so often; maybe they were just as happy that he stayed out from underfoot and seemed to give up the insane notion that he could possibly ever compare to Jett or the other, stronger boys in the village. There were still beatings from his father, more as a matter of course than any real punishment. As he got older he realized that it was his father's idea of the best way to toughen up the sons he considered inferior or somehow damaged, and he learned to ignore the hurt that went along with not being good enough because he knew there was one person in the world that thought he was fine just the way he was.
The fact that his feelings shifted from childlike worship to something deeper never really surprised him; as he reached fourteen and his body began to change in all kinds of uncomfortable and embarrassing ways it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to direct all his new-found feelings toward the one person that always made him feel safe. There was the initial awkwardness, of course, no boy his age was immune to that and he went through the panicked shame of wondering how exactly to act on what he was feeling. It was the one area of their friendship where Timo didn't take the lead, as a matter of fact. At the time Joxer assumed it was just because his friend was as confused and embarrassed as he was, but in retrospect the other boy had always possessed a sort of quiet grace that made it impossible to imagine him embarrassed about anything.
Even so he never said or did anything until Joxer finally marshaled the courage to make the first move, frustration and finally the need to just know one way or the other pushing him into an awkward, groping and less than satisfying kiss. More of a press of lips to the side of his friend's mouth, really, because along with teenage hormones came even more painful clumsiness that Joxer never quite grew out of. So his first kiss couldn't even count as an actual kiss, because he pulled away before he even got started and just stared, lips parted slightly as the dark eyes he'd spent the past four years memorizing gazed steadily back at him.
The waiting hurt; like a weight pressing down on his chest and making it hard to breathe for days and weeks or maybe just a few seconds before those three words, the ones no one really wants to ask but everyone does anyway: "Are you sure?"
And if he hadn't been sure the sound of that voice he loved so much would have cemented it for him, but he'd been sure for longer than he even knew and suddenly and with startling clarity he could answer without hesitation: "Of course. I love you."
It was so simple, really, just a few soft words exchanged between two people that had grown up together, created a magic world that no other human being could touch and suddenly it was just a little bit bigger than it had been a moment ago. The edges shifted almost imperceptibly, blurring just a little before reshaping and forming an even more solid shield against the rest of Joxer's unfortunate life. At least that was the way it had felt at the time; that second brushing of lips on lips that became their first real kiss sent a thrill through Joxer that made him feel invincible, as though the world began and ended with the two of them and nothing could ever touch the most important part of him. The part of him that belonged to a mysterious dark-haired boy from a neighboring village that stole Joxer's heart with a simple offer of friendship.
Reality came rushing back with an unbearable stinging that Joxer blinked away, swallowing hard against the tightness in his throat as he gripped the firewood in his arms more tightly. He had no idea how long he'd been rooted to the spot at the edge of the woods, lost in the memory of sweet kisses that promised so much more; worlds he'd discover over the next two blissful years before it all came crashing down around him. When he came back to himself the sky was dark save for the first few fingers of moonlight above the trees and his arms ached from the weight of the wood. He cleared his throat gruffly and forced himself back to the campsite, smiling his apologies without meeting the concerned gazes of his traveling companions.
"Joxer, is everything okay?" Xena asked, exchanging a glance with Gabrielle that wasn't lost on him. He imagined - hoped, really - that the two of them would assume his somber expression and long absence meant he was licking his wounds over Gabrielle's lack of interest in him. It was better that way, better to suffer a familiar humiliation than to stumble over an explanation about this place he didn't want to think about anymore.
"Everything's fine," he answered, aware of the tightness in his voice. He stole a quick glance at Gabrielle in an effort to reinforce the deception that he was still mooning over her, then dropped his gaze to the fire as he lowered the wood to the ground and stacked it more or less neatly. "Just had a little trouble finding dry wood. It's still damp in the forest."
A lie, one they could see through easily, but he couldn't make himself care. They were gracious enough not to point out that autumn had barely started and most of the area was still dry from the long, blazing summer, and the three of them fell into a companionable silence as they ate their dinner and unrolled their bedrolls. When the plates were cleaned and packed away Joxer turned gratefully to his makeshift bed, his back warmed by the fire as he pretended he was exhausted from the long day's journey. He didn't close his eyes, though; instead he let the low murmur of whispered conversation between the two women fade into the noises of the woods as he stared out into the darkness. The outline of the temple was barely discernable from the campsite, but he could see it as clearly as though it were broad daylight. Only his mind's eye added the solid, smiling figure of a dark-haired boy with eyes that held the kind of secrets only whispered in low voices in the dark of night. His arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned against the side of the temple, his smile broadening just a little as he watched a smaller, pale boy run through the clearing to stop in front of him.
Joxer snapped his eyes shut against the image, but they were still there behind his eyelids. He watched helplessly as strong arms encircled a slight body, pulling him forward gently for a kiss that Joxer could still feel against his lips. He felt his mouth move in response to the memory, his still-pale skin flushing in the darkness when he realized what he was doing. This was the reason he never thought about those six years, because even fifteen years later it all felt so real and it hurt so much more when he woke up to find that he was alone again. The memories were so strong in this place, though, almost like ghosts that had been waiting years for him to return. He let out a soft sigh and curled a little tighter into his bedroll, giving himself over to the memories that seemed to surround him at every turn. Just for tonight, he told himself. Just for tonight, he'd let himself remember the gentle touches, the whispered words of love and maybe just this once the aching longing when he woke wouldn't be so bad.
~
Joxer woke bathed in sweat, his heart pounding wildly in his chest and his arms moving frantically against the vice grip trying to hold him still. "Joxer…Joxer!" Louder now, and the voice wasn't the same…he blinked and looked up into the startlingly blue eyes of Xena, confusion marring his features for a moment before he looked around and remembered. The clearing set off in the stark light of morning didn't look nearly as familiar as it had the night before; the tree line was different, traces of a recent fire still showed in the charred remains of a few trees surrounded by fresh undergrowth. He turned wildly in the direction of the temple, noting for the first time since their arrival that it looked older too. Of course time had taken its toll as it always did, but last night everything had looked so…untouched. As though the clearing had been waiting for something - for him.
He shook his head as Xena released her hold on his arms, noting for the first time that Gabrielle knelt on his other side, her own face creased with worry as she ran a damp cloth over his forehead. For a moment he wondered if he had a fever, if he was delusional from some illness that had crept into his body during the night. As his breathing calmed and his heartbeat evened out a little he realized that it was just his imagination playing tricks on him, using the low light of evening and the memories of the clearing to convince him that it looked exactly the way it had fifteen years ago when he saw it last. "I'm sorry," he said, wincing at the rough quality of his voice. He eased out of Gabrielle's reach, ignoring the look of surprise that passed between his two friends. "I'm fine, I'm sorry if I worried you."
"Joxer, you were calling out in your sleep. You were thrashing around like someone was killing you, and you kept calling a name over and over."
His gaze swung back toward Xena's, eyes wide as she watched him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "I was?"
"You kept calling for someone named Timo."
It all flooded back to him at once, the force of the memories knocking the air out of his chest. For a moment all he could do was close his eyes and let the memories wash over him, pain clearly etched in his features as he replayed the dream. Another reason he didn't let himself remember, a wry voice at the back of his mind reminded him. He hadn't had the dream in years - well, technically it was a nightmare, but he'd never been one to split hairs - but his subconscious had brought it back to the fore last night with an excruciating eye for detail.
It always started the same; it was the most vivid dream he could ever remember having, full of scent and taste and touch as well as brightly colored images. Of course that might have been because it was more of a memory than a dream, at least in the beginning. It was the last time he saw Timo, a beautiful day in early autumn. They'd spread a blanket on the forest floor deep in the trees where no one would find them, not that they had to worry about anyone stumbling upon them accidentally. No one ever came to the clearing for anything other than to make an offering to Ares, and none of the warriors from the surrounding villages had any use for a thick patch of woods in a nearly deserted area. So there was no anxiousness or worry as Joxer let Timo lower him onto the blanket, losing himself in the feeling of strong hands moving across his skin as they slowly shed their clothes.
No matter how many times they were together it always felt new, but at the same time there was a familiarity about the way the other boy's hands moved on his body that made Joxer feel safe and so loved he had to force back tears. Timo never commented on the scars and bruises that appeared on Joxer's body from regular encounters with his father, but he acknowledged each one with a gentle kiss or the press of soft fingertips. It was enough to let Joxer know that he understood, and they didn't have to talk about it because when they were together nothing else mattered.
The dream memory of the last time they were together made him ache for that touch even now, with Xena and Gabrielle looking on in stunned concern. He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks but he was powerless to stop them, his chest ached too much and the images in his mind were too real. That was when the dream shifted, when the impossible happened without warning. The world they'd spent six years building so carefully, making sure to shield from the suspicious eye of every other human being came crumbling down around them. One moment he was surrounded by warmth and love and waves of nearly unbearable pleasure, and a moment later it was torn away from him and he was left cold and exposed and staring into his father's angry scowl.
Timo was pulled away from him brutally, dragged off still struggling and calling Joxer's name as his father got closer and closer, laughing over the sound of Joxer calling the name he hadn't spoken out loud in fifteen years.
"Joxer, you've got to breathe." The voice was sharp but not unkind, and he opened his eyes again to find Xena shaking him. He didn't try to move away again as Gabrielle wiped at his tears, only vaguely aware of how embarrassed he should be at the fact that he was crying as helplessly as that day when he was ten years old and fled from Ares' temple.
He realized with a start that he wasn't breathing after all, and he filled his lungs too fast and choked on the pain in his chest. A strong but still feminine hand landed on his back and rubbed in slow circles, and he shook his head and tried unsuccessfully to say something, anything to make them believe he wasn't losing his mind. The trouble was that the dream was still too vivid; even with his eyes open he could see the look on Timo's face as he was dragged away, the sound of Joxer's father's laughter still in his ears.
Of course that wasn't how it actually happened. Their last time together had been as perfect and wonderful as it was at the beginning of the dream, only no one caught them and tore them apart. He wasn't left cold and screaming for Timo as his father and brother closed in on him; that was a trick of his treacherous imagination, a left-over fear manifested in a twisted rendition of actual events. No, the truth was much more subtle but ended in pretty much the same way, with Joxer separated forever from the one person that he'd ever loved and been loved by in return.
He wouldn't discover until later that they'd been caught together in the woods, wouldn't know until his father caught him sneaking home and dragged him behind the house that Jett had followed Joxer out of boredom or curiosity or just plain old malice. He wouldn't know until he was an adult and crossed paths with his brother Jace by accident that he'd been the subject of speculation for over a year before they found out what he snuck off to do every chance he got. All he learned as his father beat him until he finally passed out was that Jett had seen him doing things no man in his right mind had any business doing and gone right home to tell his father, to report that Joxer was an even bigger disappointment than they'd feared. His father did his level best to beat that particular demon out of Joxer, but when he woke by some miracle in an aching, bloody heap hours later it was still there. Even then his heart still longed for the one person who understood, who loved him and believed that even if he wasn't as strong as the others that he still had something to offer.
It was Jace that finally helped him into the house and up the ladder to their loft, sighing in a way that let Joxer know that while he understood, he thought less of Joxer for letting himself get caught. For three days he didn't move any more than absolutely necessary, and the only time his family didn't ignore his presence was when Jace forced him to drink some water or eat a crust of bread stolen while his mother wasn't looking. When he felt strong enough to stand up without passing out again he forced his legs to carry him down the ladder, crawling the last few steps out of the house into the night air. His family, if any of them woke long enough to notice his departure, would just think he was going out to relieve himself. So it was simple enough to slip away, stopping every few minutes to gather the strength just to keep going a little bit longer. It took him all night to make it to the clearing, and when he finally reached the cluster of trees he'd come to think of as theirs the sun was peeking over the horizon.
For the first time he could remember Timo wasn't there to greet him; there was no smile to make his heart swell and no understanding in dark eyes as strong arms lifted the weight that was his life off his shoulders for just a little while. He hadn't been expecting him to be there, of course; it was barely dawn, after all, and there was no reason for his friend to expect him to be there at that hour. Joxer swallowed an irrational surge of disappointment and dug into his pocket with trembling fingers, retrieving the scrap of parchment he'd begged Jace to steal for him. It was the last act of kindness his brother showed him, depositing the scrap of cheap parchment and a small vial of ink next to Joxer one morning when their parents were both out of the house. Joxer used a makeshift quill to scratch out a barely legible note, careful to let it dry before he tucked it deep in the folds of his tunic where his father wouldn't find it and finally kill him for that one last insult.
He looked down at it that morning in the stillness of the woods, brutally forcing back tears as he set it down near the base of the tree and set a small red stone on top of it. He thought about staying, taking the risk that his father wouldn't come looking for him in the very place where he'd committed that unbearable crime just for a chance to see Timo one more time. Maybe if he could just see him, they could find a way to make it better together…go away somewhere where no one could touch their world again. They could run to Sparta the way they'd talked about, or maybe just go to Timo's family for help. He forced himself back to his feet, dismissing all the vain, desperate hopes for what they were. Impossible, nice dreams but just not possible in the world he'd tried so hard to ignore for so long. That was the last time he'd seen this clearing, through blurred vision as he slowly made his way toward the road that would lead him as far away from home as he could get.
Slowly he pulled himself together, swallowing the grief and longing that threatened to break him when he let himself remember. It was a long time ago and it was over now, but he knew he was luckier than most. He'd had real, perfect love for a little while, the kind that the bards sang about and people longed for but almost never found. He'd lost it, but he still had the memories and even though he'd never love anyone again he had friends who cared about him and he did what he could to make the world a little better wherever he found the opportunity.
"Do you want to tell me who Timo is?" Xena asked gently as Gabrielle moved away to get Joxer some water.
"Just someone I haven't thought of in a long time," he answered. "I'm sorry I worried the two of you, Xena. I know it's not really any of my business, but don't let yourself get so caught up in your crusade that you let happiness pass you by. She needs you more than you realize." He glanced over at Gabrielle before returning his attention to a confused and slightly flushed Xena.
She cleared her throat and stood up abruptly as Gabrielle returned, looking anywhere but at her traveling companions as Gabrielle lifted the canteen to Joxer's lips and forced him to drink. He wasn't sure if he'd done either of them any good by saying what he did, but the memories this place brought back were strong enough to convince him that he couldn't let his friends miss out on a chance at the happiness he'd had once. Once they were convinced that he wasn't going to fall apart again Gabrielle moved away to make breakfast and Joxer closed his eyes again, part of him wishing they were closer to a decent-sized town so he could do this properly.
Aphrodite, I'm sorry I don't have an offering to give you but I promise I'll make up for it the next time I'm near one of your temples. I don't know if you can help me, but I can't think of anyone else that might be able to. You must know that when I was fourteen I fell in love - his name was Timo and he lived near that old temple of War on the outskirts of Araxova. I just…I need to know if he's okay, if he's happy. I understand if you can't help me. Thank you, Aphrodite, for always being so nice to me and…everything.
He blushed as his impromptu prayer trailed off awkwardly, part of him hoping the goddess that seemed so fond of him would be too busy to hear it. A final sigh escaped his lips as he forced himself to focus on rolling his bedroll, hoping Xena and Gabrielle would be anxious to get back on the road to Thebes soon.
~
"Oh, my poor Joxie," Aphrodite breathed as his prayer ended in a half-hearted wish that she wouldn't even hear it. "I always hear your prayers, silly boy."
"Mom? Everything okay?" Cupid asked from his seat across the room, one eyebrow raised quizzically as he listened to his mother mutter to herself.
"I'm not sure," the goddess answered, twisting a golden curl around her finger thoughtfully. "I just got the sweetest little prayer from Joxie, but it didn't make much sense. Have you ever heard about him being in love when he was a kid?"
Cupid shrugged noncommittally, his lips turning up in a grin as he watched his mother frown. "I don't keep tabs on the romances that don't need my help as a general rule. Besides, Joxer's your pet, not mine."
"True, but when he was younger I didn't really pay much attention to him. Not until that nitwit Gabrielle broke the poor sweet boy's heart."
"I'd hardly call that heartbreak," Cupid muttered under his breath, but Aphrodite was too lost in thought to hear him.
"He mentioned a boy named Timo - his first love, some kid from somewhere around Araxova. I can't think of anybody from around there with that name, can you?"
"No," Cupid answered after a moment of consideration. "I could see what I could find out if you want. Maybe Strife can help, if there's a chance to stir up trouble he'll be more than eager."
Aphrodite smiled knowingly at her son. "You mean if there's an excuse for you to spend time with Strife you're more than eager to help." She waved off his half-hearted protest, smiling indulgently at the young god. "Go on, you and Strife see if you can find out who this love of Joxie's life is. And don't mention it to anybody until we find something out. I don't want Xena's little shadow using this against him."
"Sure thing, Mom," Cupid said, grinning as he flashed out of Aphrodite's sitting room and into the Hall of War. He wasted no time transporting to Strife's room, greeting his cousin with a resounding kiss. It was quite some time before either of them got around to the real subject of Cupid's visit.
Unbeknownst to both of them, in the next hallway a more somber than usual God of War sank into the large chair in his bedchamber, the fingers of one hand closed around something as the other hand held a piece of parchment in front of him. He closed his eyes and recited the words written there in his mind, then opened his eyes and read them over again.
I wish I could explain in person - I know I'm doing this all wrong, but I don't have any other choice. I can't see you again…please understand, it's not you. It's my father, he found out and I have to leave. I don't want you to worry, I'll be okay. I'll see you again, I know I will. I love you. So much. Joxer
The corners of the parchment were worn from fifteen years of large, agile fingers worrying the edges of the note. He'd memorized the hastily written words years ago, but that never stopped him from pulling it out and looking at the shaky, barely legible handwriting whenever he found his mind wandering back to that time out of time in a little clearing a day's walk away from Thebes. It was rare that he let himself indulge in such sentimental behavior, but every once in awhile he just couldn't stop himself. No one knew, so it wasn't really hurting anyone to just remember for a little while. He sighed and forced himself to stand up, dropping the cheap, yellowed parchment into the drawer next to his bed. His other hand uncurled slowly, his gaze falling on the smooth red stone for a moment before he set it down on top of the note and closed the drawer.